


Know Your Enemy.

by Aspieonage



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alcohol, Bathroom, Drinking, Drunk!Sherlock, M/M, Sex, Sheriarty - Freeform, Smut, club, drunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 06:00:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10353714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aspieonage/pseuds/Aspieonage
Summary: Sherlock is waiting for his arch enemy Jim Moriarty in a club.He gets one drink.. maybe two. Or was it three?Well just to say.. things start to get out of hand.





	

**Author's Note:**

> smutty, smutty smut smut.~

It all happened too fast. He was searching, scanning the room for /him/. Professor Moriarty was his name. He hadn't met him yet. His eyes stopped on a tall man with short hair and glasses, no. Not him. If he spoke, he would immediately be able to identify him by his voice, but listening in this club wasn't going to work.  
Sherlock walked over to the bar, sitting and ordering a drink to not get kicked out. While he observed the room he sipped it and the liquid ran down his throat, burning.  
He had never quite enjoyed the feeling, but the tingling sparks it send to his fingertips, had him at his second glass within less than half an hour.

Oh, how well he knew him. His face was extraordinary, and those cheekbones were piercing through the crowd. His tongue flicked over his lips as he slowly sipped his whiskey. Jim liked to watch. He was aware that Sherlock was smart. But by the looks of it, he wouldn't be able to identify him anymore in let say.. Twenty minutes. Until then he would stay seated, getting ready. Moriarty turned his head away from the curls for only a second, to order his next drink. But he had moved and it took him a moment to spot him, when he looked back up.

Dancing. He felt like dancing. So he got up and walked a very straight line to the few people who were rubbing their sweaty bodies at each other. Watching them made him crave physical attention, but he was here on his own. So he just /danced/. Sherlock even thought he would look good, but in reality, everyone could see how wasted he was already. His eyes couldn't focus on the floor, or the people, his ears listened to another beat than the actual song.

Maybe 10, not 20. Jim snickered and got up. 'Gotcha', he thought to himself. He had always wanted to screw with the best detective in town, the only person who could actually keep up with his own mind. Maybe today was the day. But the longer he watched the slim guy move and turn to the music, he wanted to show him how it really worked.  
Moriarty decided to finish his drink at once and then got up. He strolled over to the dance floor, not having any eyes on himself. He knew how to not look suspicious.  
On the dance floor, he rocked his hips to the music a bit, closing his eyes to feel it. He let himself go and loosened his thoughts, his feet making the way over to Sherlock automatically.

He felt the hands on his waist but didn't complain. They were strong and firm. Definitely a man's. He closed his eyes and let the hands guide him to the music, rocking and moving in sync. It felt /right/. And he stopped to feel dizzy due to the support of the strong arms. The music changed. It wasn't the usual pop, but a classic, something slow. He expected the man to let go, but instead he himself getting pulled in close, felt a body press against his back. He was smaller, but he handled him well. Sherlock couldn't stop himself from grinding his hips back.

Moriarty tugged him close. Screwing with him seemed to become a screwing him. But he didn't mind. The detective had always /fascinated/ him. And the purple shirt he was wearing had given him the rest. The slow song had him rubbing his half hard member on the taller man's ass. He pulled him even closer and breathed hot and heavy into his neck, which sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine. One of his hands decided to wander around his waist, playing with and dipping into his waistband a couple of times, before tugging his purple shirt loose on one side. He used this to sneak his hand onto his stomach, feeling the soft, shaven skin.

Public. There were people. He was dancing. And a stranger had a hand on his abdomen, sending hot sparks down his crotch. His pants were starting to feel a tad too tight and when the hand moved down a few inches, he leaned his head back and let out a small, satisfied sound.  
How did they end up in the bathroom? No idea. When the song ended a hand had dragged him off the dance floor and into the men's room without giving him and time to protest. He stone wall in his back felt nice and comfortable and he was glad about the support. Because his knees started to buckle the moment he was undoing his fly. Sherlock's hands flew up, trying to grab a hold of his hair, but it was short. Short... His brain started working, searching. But a palm on his cock made him jump back to where he was, in a public bathroom, pressed against the wall next to the sinks, a stranger's hand in his pants. He groaned quietly, closing his eyes.

Jim admired the view in front of him. Sherlock was way too far gone to stop now. His head was rolling around and the sounds he was making, sweet Jesus.. if anyone would walk in now, he wouldn't blame them for joining.  
But this was about the two of them. Moriarty palmed him and then pressed his body flush against Sherlock's, causing him to moan once more. He slid a hand in the back of his pants, grabbing one of his perfectly shaped buttcheeks and squeezing. His mouth wandered over the sharp lines of his neck, nipping, sucking and biting. Marking him up. Because in that moment, Jim decided he was /his/. This body was never going to be someone else's again and everyone was going to be able to see it.  
His free hand started to unbutton the shirt, while his mouth painted the close to white canvas purple and red. When he had it open, he shrugged it off his shoulders, kissing down to his sharp collarbones, continuing the procedure.

Sherlock's head spun. Pleasure raced through his brain, followed by small sparks of pain, which were wiped away by more pleasure. He tried to stay quiet. But he ended up squirming and moaning and rocking his hips against the man. /More/. He needed him. He needed so much more than this. His hands tried to get a grip of the suit jacket but he didn't let him take it off. He pushed his shirt up but hands pushed it down again. Regaining some of his mind, he grabbed his tie and pulled on it, getting a startled groan and /finally/ the sweet taste of whiskey on soft, plush lips on his. Sherlock claimed his mouth with a lot of tongue and a firm grip in the short hair of his partner. A name. He needed a name. Gasping for air, he threw his head back and let out a low growl when he didn't even have the time to catch a breath before the other continued.

Sherlock. His brain was fast. He couldn't lose control now. He couldn't get lost in his own game.  
His hands were on his body again fast, pushing his pants down and dropping them to his ankles. He watched his erection spring free and licked his lips. This man was definitely not small. He groaned when he thought about having him inside of... Not today. Bathroom. He reminded himself. He was only here to suck him off, get him to accept who he belonged to now. His kisses went downward again. He tugged and licked and nipped on his nipples until they were red and puffy. At that point he had a hand in his hair that was gradually pushing him downward.  
But Jim didn't mind, didn't comply either. He had his own pace and worked his way down, giving his hipbones a special treatment too.

Finally. He couldn't stop himself from moaning loudly, his knees nearly giving in. A hot, wet mouth was on his throbbing head, mouthing him through his boxers. He tugged on the black hair, desperately trying to get more. But nothing worked. Bucking his hips only had him pull back.  
Sherlock looked down at the man who was now on his knees, kneeling between his long, slightly spread legs. And then his boxers fell and the view was breathtaking. Black eyes were looking up at him, only an inch between his perfect mouth and Sherlock's dripping Dick. A hand was laid on his buttock and the other fondled his balls. He felt his head hit the tiles and a raspy groan leaving his throat.

He was /beautiful/. A true piece of art. And he was going to bring it to perfection. He licked up the first drops of precum that dared to leave his Dick. And then he was lost. He swirled his tongue in circles around the head, dipping it into the slit while his hand played with his sack.  
Jim sucked his head into his mouth and closed his eyes. He had always been a slut for blowjobs but he couldn't get enough of this one. So it didn't take him long before he was bobbing his head, hollowing his cheeks and sucking good. And the moans he got out of this guy. He was certain that nobody was going to come in here because Sherlock just sounded /filthy/.

He wasn't.. He couldn't.. No clear thought was left in his brain by the time he had that sweet hotness on him. And every part of his body tried not to just fall apart right here and now. His eyes were squeezed shut and his mouth didn't stop making noises. Obscene words left it but it all stopped. His cock hit the back of the guy's throat and he just couldn't anymore. He was done, spent, and he didn't expect to last another second.  
Never in his life had he felt anything close to this. The sparks in his stomach turned out to be fireworks. His grip in his hair tightened in an attempt to pull the mysterious guy off of him, but he didn't. He only kept taking him deeper and... Sherlock's vision faded, his whole body tensed and he /screamed/. A name? A word? Who knows. The intensity in which the Orgasm hit him, had him almost collapsed on the floor. And the mouth that was still sucking, milking every last drop out of him didn't help.

God. He tasted wonderful. Moriarty took his time licking every last drop off. When he let him go it was with an obscene sound, that send shivers down his own spine. He straightened up, padded the dirt off of his suit and looked at the work he had done. Sherlock was spent. He leaned at the wall, eyes halfway shut, chest heaving. He wouldn't get anything from him. Today. But this was definitely not the last time they'd seen each other.  
Jim tugged his boxers up and pulled his jeans back up, closing them and tucking his shirt where it belonged. He cupped both of his cheeks and kissed him, demanding and powerful before he got his card out of his pocket. He licked over the shell of his ear before he whispered. "Jim Moriarty. Call me."  
He turned, checked his appearance in the mirror, and left.


End file.
